


Ache

by freshfuckinpot



Category: Foo Fighters
Genre: Anal Sex, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-29 01:39:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15719286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freshfuckinpot/pseuds/freshfuckinpot
Summary: Tonight, he gets that silly, over-the-top lisp around a, “Let me run you a bath and take good care of you, baby.”





	Ache

They’re getting old. 

_ He’s  _ getting old. And-- and  _ fuck _ , man, his body thrums after a show, throbs and aches, and he knows everyone watches him with careful eyes as he winces when he plops himself down onto the first surface big enough to support him, as he shakes the buzzing out of his wrists. 

He knows that there are questions on the tips of everyone’s tongues, but they swallow them all down in time with him swallowing down the recommended dose of Advil, rubbing lotion that smells minty and hot onto his wrists. 

Pat is the only one who ever just puts a gentle hand on his shoulder and says, “You did great, man,” in that way that Pat does. The other guys always fall into agreeable conversation, a hum of positivity for a little while that always eases the tension in Taylor’s chest at least a little bit. 

And then there’s Dave, who follows him too closely, not asking the questions, but wanting to, wanting to  _ know  _ and wanting to  _ help.  _ But Taylor knows he’s not going to say a damn thing, not until they’re alone, and even then, all he’ll say is something silly to break the tension, to make Taylor laugh even though he doesn’t feel like fucking laughing. 

Tonight, he gets that silly, over-the-top lisp around a, “Let me run you a bath and take good care of you, baby.” 

He might have been joking, but his hands aren’t, not when they run smooth, caring circles over Taylor’s back. The heat of the water might be clouding his brain, but Dave’s gone all soft and sweet, and he’s quiet and careful, letting Taylor nervously, tiredly rattle on about the show, about what he thinks they should work a little more on, about his favorite parts, about the songs that hurt the fucking worst. 

Dave hums politely, listens, answers in a calm, soothing tone that drips down Taylor’s aching spine in the sweetest of ways. Whatever soap Dave decided to use smells nice, the shampoo even better. The cloth is soft, and his hands are softer, guiding Taylor around carefully so he can scrub at every bit of him. 

“Soak for a bit,” he tells him, stripping out of his own clothes so he can get in the shower on the other side of the too-big hotel bathroom. Taylor tries not to watch too closely, but it doesn’t really work all that well, if he’s honest. 

Eventually he gives in and watches, the blurred outline of Dave rinsing himself off, using his hands to work soap into a lather on his chest, sloughing it across his body haphazardly. He’s much less graceful with himself than he was with Taylor, rushing through it like he’s got something way more important to be doing right now. 

And Taylor watches. 

He takes his time washing his hair and his face, knowing exactly how rank all that hair gets, how his beard will smell like sweat and beer if he doesn’t actually wash it. First shampoo and then conditioner for both, and Taylor almost laughs at him, but he bites it back, fiddles with the washcloth Dave left on the edge of the tub. 

It’s hard to lounge fully, but he does his best, legs resting over the side, crossed at the ankles as he leans back against the backrest. And he watches. 

Dave’s careful about rinsing the shampoo out, and even more so about the conditioner, scratching through his beard and ringing his hair out a few different times, making sure it won’t be oily with excess. He runs his hands over his face, down his chest, down his sides, and Taylor watches. 

When he turns the water off, opens the shower and reaches for a towel, he catches Taylor, who was definitely not trying to be subtle. 

“Didn’t realize I was putting on a show or I’d have done a better job,” Dave teases as he dries himself off a bit lazily. 

“I don’t need a show,” Taylor promises. “It’s better when it’s just you.” 

“Alright, sappy ass, get out of that tub before you get all wrinkly like the old man you are.” 

For that, Taylor makes an extra point to groan and grunt as he folds himself out of the tub, slowly reaching out for the towel Dave holds out for him. Laughing around Dave’s eye roll, he says, “You gonna carry my old ass to bed, too, or can I walk?” 

“Fuckin’ walk, asshole,” Dave laughs. “And don’t get any damn water all over our bed, or you can call the front desk and tell them you pissed all over the sheets.” 

And just like that, there’s that switch, flipped with ease, and Taylor knows his part as he follows Dave out of the bathroom, scrubbing his hair dry. 

In the room, Dave helps him dry off, takes the towel from his hands and is just as gentle as he was in the bath, making sure not to rough him up too much. And Taylor gets to watch him half-heartedly dry himself off, too. 

Then, there are two big hands cupping his face, a scratchy beard pressing into his face, and soft, familiar lips against his own. It’s nice, and Taylor hums into it, wrapping his arms around Dave’s middle to pull him closer. 

Dave is good at this. He’s good at just about everything he does, but this is-- this is something else, entirely. All of this. It’s like he was wired specifically for this. Music and sex, which are one in the same in a lot of ways. It makes sense at the very core. 

Dave fucks like he plays like he talks. 

Taylor slips his tongue past the seam of Dave’s lips and hurries this along, body already buzzing for more. But Dave pulls away when he does, shakes his head, tugs Taylor’s arms back down by his sides. When he dives back in to press their mouths together, it’s that same maddeningly slow pace, too sweet, too soft. The message is clear: “I’m in control.” 

So Taylor melts against him, takes whatever he’s offering. His reward is a hand creeping its way up into his damp hair, encouraging his head back just so, until Dave has to stretch a little to keep the kiss going, but can guide Taylor’s mouth open with his other hand. 

Right as Taylor thinks things might finally heat up a little bit, he pulls away again, leaving Taylor with his head cocked back, mouth open. He’s panting a little, but he’s careful not to beg, not to say anything as he waits. 

“You’re real pretty, T,” Dave murmurs, and before Taylor can get his polite ‘thank you’ out, there are two thick fingers sliding into his open mouth. “Gonna let me fuck you, pretty boy?” 

He tries to nod, but Dave’s fingers hook in his jaw, stopping him from moving. So instead, he tries to garble out a messy, wet, “Yeah.” 

Dave grins, pulls down with his fingers until it almost hurts, until Taylor is damn near tapping out, but then he’s slipping them up and back instead, tugging Taylor closer to him with his free hand and watching his fingers press down Taylor’s throat. It forces a gag from him, and Dave pulls them back again, letting him breathe. 

He tells Taylor, “You did good tonight,” in that same way that Pat does, only sweeter, thicker, like honey on the tip of his tongue, slipping down his throat as Dave’s fingers press back again. “Do good some more for me, yeah?” 

“‘Kay,” he tries, nodding this time, half a mind to close his mouth and try to clean the mess of spit Dave’s got dripping down his hand. But Dave presses too far again, gagging him one more time before he’s pulling away entirely, tugging Taylor even closer to press their mouths together again. 

Only now, he slips his tongue between Taylor’s lips and licks across his palate. 

His hands find Taylor’s arms, pull them behind his back as he guides him backwards towards the bed. At the last second, he lets go, pushes Taylor onto the bed so he can catch himself on his elbows. 

Watching Dave sink to his knees is a gift, one that has Taylor’s thighs trembling even before Dave gets his hands on them. And when he drapes himself across Taylor’s body, rising up from his spot on the floor slowly, it’s even better. It drags a hum out of him. The closeness is nice, skin-on-skin that’s got him feeling warm and safe and cared for. 

Dave’s hands come up to wipe Taylor’s hair out of his face in a way that’s kind and purposeful. There’s a beat where Taylor is sure he’s going to get fingers down his throat again, but it passes, and instead Dave presses his mouth to his sternum. 

There’s a wet path formed down his torso, tracing the dips and curves of his body, teeth coming out to scrape gently just frequently enough to have him on his toes. The insistent press of his cock against Dave’s chest doesn’t seem to bother him, so when he gets low enough to do something about it, Taylor isn’t shocked when he bypasses it altogether. 

Still, he can’t help how he arches up, lets out a groan of frustration that Dave chuckles warmly at, not letting up on dragging his mouth across Taylor’s body. 

“Did you bathe me just so you could put your tongue all over me?” he asks, teasing, humming into the feeling. It’s nice, it’s sweet-- but god, he could use a nice fuck right now.

“Maybe,” Dave says, hands brushing his own hair out of his face this time, right as he sinks his teeth into the inside of Taylor’s thigh. And he sits up, scoots them both further up the bed, hooks his hands under Taylor’s knees to get his legs up and around him. When he’s got them pressed close, hands on Taylor’s stomach instead, he says, “Got you clean so I could do whatever the fuck I wanted without you smelling and tasting like ass.” 

“Thought you liked ass,” Taylor jokes, wriggling around a little. 

“Keep it up,” Dave challenges, grinning, hands pressing into Taylors stomach, “and I’ll tie your hands behind your back and make you watch me jerk off onto your stomach right here.” Pointedly, he moves one hand down to wrap around himself, jerking himself off slow and sweet, curling tight and hot in Taylor’s stomach. 

“Sounds hot.” He can’t help himself, and it earns him a swat on the sensitive part of his thigh that sends flares of heat through him, drags a yelp from his chest. “Alright, alright. Sorry,” he concedes. 

But still: “You gonna fuck me, though? Seriously.” 

“Yeah, yeah, impatient,” Dave says, rocking his hips forward like he’s proving a point. “You feeling better?” 

There it is. Taylor was waiting for it. It doesn’t bother him, really; mostly it makes him feel cared for, if a little silly for coming across like he needs to be checked on or something. He knows Dave isn’t trying to do that, is coming from a caring place, so he just grunts, nods, rocks his hips up against Dave’s to prove  _ his  _ point. 

“Good,” Dave tells him, voice gone soft and sweet again. And then his hips rock forward again to match Taylor, his hand coming up to press those two fingers back into Taylor’s mouth. 

It’s easy to open his mouth, relax his jaw, let his eyes flutter shut against the feeling. He sighs into it, hums around his mouthful, and shivers a bit at the rough sound that tumbles out of Dave when he does. Their cocks lined up, Dave finally supplying him with some friction, and Taylor might be able to come just from this, the feeling lapping at his nerves. 

His brain going a little fuzzy, he tries to say, “I love you,” around his mouthful, but it doesn’t come out as much more than a garbled mess. It’s all dripping through him so slowly, and like this, with Dave’s attention and Dave’s hands on him, it’s even fucking better. 

For his part, Dave chuckles softly, uses his free hand to press their dicks together a little better as he rocks forward, and says, “Love you too, T.” 

It’s so  _ easy  _ to lose himself in this. So he does. 

His reward is Dave pulling away just long enough to fish lube from wherever he kept it, and returning just to rub at Taylor’s hole with two wet fingers before he’s asking, “Just my dick, okay?”

“No fingers?” Taylor asks, mouth slurring around the words just a little, his jaw overworked. 

“No fingers,” Dave tells him, reaching up to squeeze at Taylor’s chest a bit painfully, desperation buzzing through his fingertips. “Okay?” 

There’s a moan building in his chest at the thought, so instead of talking and risking looking too eager, he nods his head, arches up when Dave pulls away again. There’s the slick, unmistakable sound of him fisting his own cock, getting himself wet. 

And Taylor sighs into the feeling of the blunt head of his cock pressed at his hole. 

Dave grunts, that hand coming back to knead at Taylor’s chest, and then he’s asking, “Good?” 

“Fuck. Yeah,” Taylor promises, drawing a thick, heavy breath into his lungs. 

It starts as a pinch in his gut, blooming through his veins as Dave takes it slow, presses inside as carefully as he can. The heat of it all drags through him, and he knows he’s holding his breath when Dave pinches him in the side. He lets it out in a rush, stuttering around half-bitten words. He reaches out to grab Dave’s forearm, trying to let him know that he’s okay. 

It doesn’t hurt; it’s just  _ intense _ . He feels full, feels exactly like he imagined he would. When Dave’s hips rock backwards, pull out just a little before pressing back inside, Taylor’s mouth falls open and he chokes out a, “God, Dave.” 

And he gets it, he thinks. He gets what Dave’s doing, why he’s dragging this out, spreading Taylor out and playing with him all slow and sweet. 

“My pretty boy,” Dave murmurs, leaning down to mouth at Taylor’s chest. His hair gets in Taylor’s face and it’s hot and his cock feels huge inside of him and his mouth is wet and his teeth are sharp and it’s all so fucking good all at once that Taylor can’t help it when he feels his eyes start to water. Of course Dave notices when he sits back up, and  _ of course _ he grins, uses his clean hand to wipe at the tears before they even fall. “Good?” he asks again, but different this time, purposeful and serious. And he doesn’t stop moving. 

And Taylor says, “ _ Yes _ , fuck.” 

Dave pulls all the way out. 

Just as slow and careful as he pressed inside. 

Taylor’s hands find his arms, fingers digging in, throat working around an annoyed sound. “Hush,” Dave tells him. 

He’s slicker when he presses in again, wetter than before, and Taylor’s mouth falls open around a moan, his head lolling to the side when Dave bottoms out this time, smooth and easy and so fucking  _ wet  _ all of a sudden. 

“There we go,” Dave says thickly, hands gripping thin hips as he rocks inside. “Feels so fucking good, baby.” 

All Taylor can manage is a rough, “ _ Fuck _ ,” that gets stuck halfway in his chest. 

His head is fuzzy, his mouth trying its hardest to get more out, his hands still clamped around Dave’s forearms. It’s fucking good, twisting through him with every press of Dave’s cock inside of him. Everything starts in the base of his spine and works its way through him, filling his chest and his stomach with fluttering, dancing fireworks. 

He knows his eyes are wet again, but neither one of them acknowledge it this time. His body arches up into the feeling, searching for contact, searching for anything at all, and Dave bends to slot their mouths together messily. 

It’s so fucking good. He’s close already, his body curling into the feeling, aching for it, and his throat works around a sound, his eyes falling shut against the feeling. Dave tells him, “Jerk yourself off for me.” 

It takes everything in him to move one of his hands, to pry his fingers from around Dave’s arm and lose that contact. But as soon as he gets his own hand around his cock, everything shifts. 

It’s  _ so fucking good _ . He tries telling Dave as much, hears his mouth working around the words, and Dave immediately slides those two fingers into Taylor’s mouth again. 

Something about the pressure, the way that Dave’s cock presses into him just right, his hand around himself-- it all licks its way down his spine slow and sweet, just like Dave’s been all night. When he comes, it’s with a heavy, loud slur of, “Oh, fuck.  _ Fuck _ , Dave.” 

His whole body trembles, back arching up, everything going tight before he shivers, relaxes into the mattress with a sigh. Cock twitching against his belly weakly, he cups his hand over himself, a groan tumbling out of him. 

“God, Taylor,” Dave pants, hands going tight against Taylor’s skin. His rhythm shakes, his eyes falling shut, and Taylor knows he’s close. He groans thickly, uses his hands to spread Taylor’s legs that much wider. 

“Yeah,” Taylor hums, wriggling just a little, stretching his sore muscles. “Come on, Dave. Come inside me, come on.” 

“Fuck,” he hisses, hips stuttering. 

And Taylor watches him. 

It’s good. It’s so fucking good. 

He doesn’t collapse onto Taylor, but he does bend down to press their mouths together gently. They stay like that for a while, lazy and sweet and coming down together. When he pulls out, it’s with a sympathetic murmured apology pressed to Taylor’s lips.

As he pulls away, he says, “Don’t get jizz all over everything.” 

While he’s gone back to the bathroom, Taylor stretches, tries his best not to get jizz anywhere. He also tries his best not to immediately fall asleep. He mostly succeeds, creaking his eyes open when Dave starts wiping at him with a warm washcloth, like a real gentleman. 

By the time they’re both mostly clean, Taylor’s almost kind of awake, and he’s easy to manhandle until Dave’s got him on his side, curled into the curve of Dave’s own body. They’ll wake up sticking to each other with sweat, but Taylor’s okay with it right now. 

As an afterthought, into Dave’s skin, he says, “Gonna have to bathe me again in the morning.” 

Dave snorts, presses a kiss to the top of Taylor’s head. 

“We’ll see.” 


End file.
